


I Had A Thought, Dear, However Scary

by Dead_Alias



Series: Like Real People Do [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Communication, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Established Relationship, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Gentleness, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, T for Tender, slight PTSD?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23953300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dead_Alias/pseuds/Dead_Alias
Summary: Geralt hums besides him, a question in the inflection. “I dreamed I was still stuck in the ground.” The other man’s hands that had been caressing up and down stutter for just a moment.---Jaskier recounts his time buried under his grave before Geralt digs him up.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Like Real People Do [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712947
Comments: 9
Kudos: 129





	I Had A Thought, Dear, However Scary

**Author's Note:**

> A short idea I had as a part of the Like Real People Do verse. Set after the entirety of Eyes Always Seeking.
> 
> All titles and original concept brought to you by one Mr. Hozier from the song Like Real People Do.  
> The Amazing Devil Easter eggs if you look hard enough.

There’s a loud gasp and shuffle of bodies and it’s not until he’s crying that he knows it’s coming from himself. Jaskier clutches the sheets and the furs tightly in the bed, waiting for his body to settle to the scenery around him in the small room of the inn they’re staying.

Geralt, though, is up in a flash, sword in hand and one leg off the bed with his foot planted firmly on the floor in a ready stance. Jaskier recovered quickly from his frenzy, so he extends a hand to the Witcher to still him. His hand gently smooths across his shoulder and back, comforting him, telling him without words to stand down. Geralt’s posture is still tense, but Jaskier can see through the dark that it has relaxed, if even slightly. “I’m sorry to startle you. It was a nightmare.” He whispers into the night. Geralt sets his sword back against the wall shared by the bed and turns towards him again.

“Are you alright?” The deep voice that rumbles out is still groggy despite being alert in every other sense. Rough warm hands catch at his propped-up legs and across his back, soothing the remaining shakes he still has.

He rubs at his eyes, smearing the tears glowing in the low moonlight till his cheeks are dry. “Yes. Yes, I believe so.” He can still feel the emotion from the dream as if it were sat heavy on the nape of his neck. He scratches at it, hoping it will leave him.

It doesn’t.

Geralt hums besides him, a question in the inflection. “I dreamed I was still stuck in the ground.” The other man’s hands that had been caressing up and down stutter for just a moment. He feels the once resolved trepidation slowly slinking around inside of the burly man. He feels it like an incoming storm cloud; starting as no more than a wisp easing on the wind, but unwatched, it turns swift and becomes thicker, darker and looming. The winds pick up, gaining it traction farther reaching. Once you feel it’s drops, it’s already too late, the storm has come.

Jaskier turns his head away from Geralt, watching the darkness across the room, eyes fixed on the corner. “I was stuck in that deep dark place all alone. I couldn’t move my body even as everything surrounding me could. I felt the bugs. I felt the rain touch my skin. I felt the roots stretch and reach around, cradling me it their bosoms like a babe asleep. It was such a long and exhausting sleep. The years passed by and I took no notice of its changes. Everything else continued, living so close by, but never giving me notice either. I suppose it was only fair.” He chuckles lightly, a forced pained smile tugging his lips. _Fair. What’s fair?_

Geralt says nothing. His hands never stop caressing over Jaskier’s back.

The nails of the man’s thick fingers catch on his lower spine and he shivers, jolting from the memory of the bite of a beetle trying to make its way around under the compacted dirt. His skin crawls. The worms that slithered along his flesh, the centipedes that tangled into his hair, the spiders that touched so delicately against the inside of his ears looking for a hole to make a home of. The dam breaks in his head, letting all the sensation flood him from his dream. He shakes from it, breath coming fast, eyes glossed over. Jaskier’s muscles draw taut, his lungs tighten in his chest feeling suffocated.

He doesn’t blame the insects, nor does he blame the weather, nor nature which encompassed him so completely. No. He blames the magic, the chaos, the deity, the whatever it is that decided to put him there to grow as a planted seed. He curses at the world for leaving him there behind falling out of touch with all the rest, forgotten.

“I could feel how anxiously I wanted to be freed from my waiting. Though I had no thought of what I’d been waiting for. It was a harsh and taunting want. A depraved hope…” Geralt pulled Jaskier closer, setting his chin on Jaskier’s shoulder as more nimble hands carded through white hair. He wrapped his arms around the bard and sat them up halfway against the headboard.

“I felt as though I could sense you, as well.” Flashes of heat stir under his skin at the tremble he remembers of the ground above. Glances of emotion, tastes of trouble, electrifying hints of being known without being seen. It swelled within his breast at the time, as it does still, now.

“You were so sad…” Jaskier whispered, fingers slow but never stilling. “Your heart was weakened from the mourning you suffered. There was such a profound quietness to it... You felt so unsettled: the anger, guilt, longing. Oh, _such longing_. And then I could hear you tearing the ground asunder. What a bestial sight it must have been. I could feel your loss as my own, what a pained existence you’ve lived.” Jaskier finally faced him.

He readjusted their positions so that they were lying down now, his head in the crook of Geralt’s neck, arms wrapped loosely about his body. Geralt burrowed against the bard, hands splayed firmly across his skin to keep him close and warm under the blankets and furs. Jaskier started to draw patterns and all kinds of lines into his back that had nothing to do with the scars that littered his body. Their eyes were closed, breaths even.

He suppresses the imagined sound of the feet of those thousands of insects roving his body in this quiet.

“I stayed in the dirt while you bore that alone, how rotten and unfair the fates are to you.” Geralt sighed, troubled. Here this mountain of a man was, wrapped up in his arms, having felt such loneliness and disgust for himself all these years that have only made his capable hands gentle and his heart fragile. “One who deserves the world only to carry all its burdens in its stead. Oh, how sore your shoulders, traveler. Let me lessen what it is you still harbor.” Jaskier pleasantly scratched across the expanse of Geralt’s shoulder blades. The man growls a tired hum then breathes in Jaskier’s hair, his calming scent, the warmth of their sleepy bodies. “Have the gods given you nothing of a reprieve?”

“They have.” Geralt crackles out in a deep grating voice. When Jaskier stayed quiet, he continued, “I have you.” Jaskier’s body was set alight, his grip tightening around his Witcher. Geralt inhaled deeply again, most likely scenting the obvious affection Jaskier was exuding. The smaller man tilted his head up, accidentally nudging Geralt’s nose in the process. The other snorted, a smile on his lips while his eyes remained closed. He pressed their lips together, just a small tender thing. It was far too late in the night and their bodies were far too tired for it to be anything more. But it was warm and light.

He sighs when Geralt’s hand slides along his neck, cupping his jaw, fingers round the lobe of his ear. The weight is heavy, heavier still the more the larger man’s tension leaves his body. He didn’t say anything as he felt Geralt relax more, slipping closer and closer back to sleep. He could swear he heard the man purring.

Jaskier takes the hand stayed at his neck, only to nuzzle into it, kissing the meat of his palm. He burrows into the broad chest in front of him like he could carve out the man’s ribs and live inside for shelter, completely encased but safe. His soft puffs of breath against Geralt’s skin tickle back at his nose, the tip of it feeling fuzzy. He smiles, kisses against Geralt’s sternum where both their hearts are held and falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of other story ideas for this series to continue off of.
> 
> Kudos and Comments are highly highly appreciated. I've been pretty anxious about my writing during this time, so anything helps. Even criticism!
> 
> Either way, thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
